


cafe carrot

by silentsonata



Series: nice but inaccurate oneshots [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Food, M/M, carrot cake, coffee shop AU, crowley watches aziraphale eat, good omens fluff, op has never tried carrot cake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-31 21:09:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20121703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentsonata/pseuds/silentsonata
Summary: An explanation of why Crowley only ever watches Aziraphale eat.





	cafe carrot

“Just the usual carrot cake and ginger tea for you, Mr Fell?”

Aziraphale nodded, smiling. “And a shot of espresso for my friend, please.”

It was always like this. Find a nice café, let Aziraphale order for him (as black as Crowley’s soul, the angel would say), and sit back to watch him enjoy his meal. Crowley had never really cared for places like cafés, seeing as they didn’t serve his drink of choice (alcohol, baby!), and especially because he never really enjoyed eating anyway. He only ever ordered something little, so that he could finish it quickly, so he could devote the rest of the time to looking at Aziraphale. But just watching Aziraphale gaze longingly at his food, feeling the aura of delight from him as he ate, and seeing him smile contentedly as he finished: those things were all Crowley needed to be satisfied.

He couldn’t deny, though, that he enjoyed looking at the little bit of gluttony, the little bit of _sin_ that he saw in Aziraphale whenever he was in front of food.

“What, carrot cake? _Carrots_ in a cake? Why d’ya order that so much?”

“Because…” Aziraphale trailed off. _Carrots remind me of your hair._ “They’re healthy!” _That was a lie. It’s a comfort food for when I miss you._

“Aw, angel,” Crowley drawled, “I have just the _smallest _feeling that’s not true.” He chuckled. “Don’t worry, I won’t reveal your carrot-cake addiction to anyone.”

“I’m not addicted! You fiend!” Aziraphale argued, adjusting his bowtie, almost pouting a little. Crowley couldn’t help thinking how cute he was, huffing in indignance. He could almost see the little steam clouds puffing out of Aziraphale’s nose, wispy and light like his curly blond hair, like a little steam engine or a baby dragon.

Feeling eyes on him, the angel looked around sheepishly, murmuring an apology that got softer as he went on. From the tips of his ears, Aziraphale’s face began to turn red, and the proof of his embarrassment reached all the way to his neck. Crowley noted that it was like watching a sunrise, only far more adorable, and he was slammed, once again, with the realisation that he’d fallen in love with the brightest star there probably ever was and ever would be. He would know - he helped make them, after all.

The sound of chat and the smell of coffee were filling the café, making a rich blend with hidden notes of affection. “Come on, ‘s’no need to get so_ emotional_. One would think that you were lying!” Crowley raised his eyebrows suggestively.

“I take back what I said before about you being nice,” Aziraphale huffed, “I’d have been better off coming here by myself.” And, just in time to restore his good spirits, the waitress arrived, bearing their order, and Crowley softened at how Aziraphale’s eyes lit up when he saw the cake and at how he thanked her so wholeheartedly.

As he turned to his own little cup of coffee, Crowley scrunched his nose a little. Aziraphale would never let him live it down if Crowley ever let slip that he’d started drinking coffee at home – just sometimes, he swears – because of these little coffee dates. His espresso cup, concealed discreetly in his desk, would be filled with sweet memories every time, despite the bitter coffee. But he didn’t enjoy the taste so much as the smell, which was a pleasant reminder of these simple times. But that was all the smell could do.

Aziraphale’s scent, however, intoxicated him, always leaving him wanting, wrapping around him like a soft embrace. It was the scent of sugar and cinnamon, of fresh bread and old books, the smell of someone who positively oozed love, and the smell of sweet wine with flowers that lingered on Crowley’s lips.

And as Crowley looked at him, he wished that he could stop time and live in this moment forever. The light was hitting Aziraphale’s face in a way that made it look like his curls were little halos on his head. His eyes were closed as he fully savoured the taste of the cake and there was, ever-so-slightly, the hint of a smile growing onto his face like a daisy blooming. It seemed, almost, like his hands were raised to conduct, the spoon in his right hand a baton to cue the beginning of a symphony of flavours.

Aziraphale’s expression was one of innocent bliss, like that of a child entering a toy store or a Crowley faced with a selection of fine wines. Crowley could write whole books on this one moment, or a whole poetry anthology, or even a solid set of sonatas on how perfect the angel opposite him was. But none of them would be able to do Aziraphale justice.

“-wley. Crowley._ Crowley._”

“Huh? What?” Crowley hoped that he hadn’t been caught staring.

Aziraphale scoffed a little. “Something wrong with my face?” _Drat._

“Uh, no, it’s perfect, um, tickety-boo, yes.” _Smooth_.

“And here I was, thinking you’d concocted some devilish plan. I didn’t know you were capable of compliments like that. You should try it more often.” Aziraphale crossed his arms. “And how rude of you not to listen when I’m talking!”

“Sorry, sorry, my bad.” Crowley put his hands up in mock surrender. He had gotten away with it every other time, with Aziraphale so absorbed in his food that he wouldn’t even notice that his demon friend had finished. He showed just a little bit of selfishness whenever he did that, which made it so much more fun for Crowley.

But as Aziraphale continued talking, Crowley zoned out and began to focus on his lips. Perhaps they would taste like ginger tea and all its notes of spice. _No. Bad Crowley._ From customers at his bookstore to the new crepe bar that had just opened in town, Aziraphale wove the tale of his life like a blanket, and Crowley was as wrapped up in it as anybody could get. There was something comforting about Aziraphale’s voice, something about the way he wiggled a little in his seat when he got more passionate, that demanded so much love from Crowley. And Crowley gave. All of it, and more.

As their conversation drew to a slow close and Crowley paid at the counter, insisting that it was his treat, they left the café. He turned to Aziraphale.

“Mr Carrot-Enthusiast, fancy a ride back?”

**Author's Note:**

> as the tags say, i've never tried carrot cake
> 
> [Find me on Tumblr!](https://silent--sonata.tumblr.com/)  
[Chat to me on Discord!](https://discord.gg/pTcajxx)  



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